


The Best Intentions

by imaginary_iby



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Team Ohana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Steve and Danny are trying to do, is enjoy a sleepy Sunday morning between the sheets.  The team, on the other hand, is determined to get their hands on the McGarrett kitchen.  </p><p>In which there is a bake-sale, Max is endearingly innocent, and Steve is sexually frustrated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal thanks to [Chris,](http://keepupbabe.tumblr.com/) who helped me when I started sulking over how to end this.

Danny wakes slowly, lashes fluttering open and nose nuzzling into his warm pillow. The feel of familiar fingertips dancing a gentle beat down his spine makes him arch with pleasure; the shadow of Steve settling on top of him coaxes him to spread his legs a little, a primal and sleep-soaked part of his brain acting on instinct.

He feels pleasantly hazy, melting back into the mattress with a soft sigh when Steve begins to smudge wet kisses between his shoulder blades. His arms - heavy after having spent a decent portion of the night squashed under an ardent SEAL - tingle a little as he folds them beneath his pillow.

The early morning sunlight almost _tastes_ of Sunday, so thick and heady is the aura of relaxation that has settled over their bedroom. He loves these moments, lazy and quiet and affectionate. 

-

Both Danny and Steve are passionate people; energetic, physical and intense. There are times when it seems as if their life together, both personally and professionally, is little more than a mad dash from one explosion to the next. Steve is efficient during the working week, all exercise regimens and alarm clocks. For all that Danny grumbles, sprawled in the middle of their bed as he watches Steve step into faded board shorts, they both know that he himself will be up five minutes later. 

He’s not one for swimming, and he doesn’t have the patience for gentle jogs. Rather, he prefers short bursts of speed around the neighborhood, weaving and darting as though pursuing a suspect. Before long, however, he’s stood before his faithful punching bag, knuckles taped or clad in light gloves. The red leather is familiar and worn, having seen him through some of the darker periods in his life. He rounds off with a few sets of chin-ups or push-ups, whatever strikes his fancy that morning. 

He’s usually winding down just as Steve emerges from the water. Sometimes, Steve will shake himself off like a puppy if he’s feeling playful, or run a hand through his wet hair if he’s angling for a shared shower and a morning quickie.

They tend not to exercise together – Steve is too competitive and Danny is too short-tempered. Every now and then they’ll indulge in a pick-up game of basketball, fuelled by after-dinner beers and a need to burn off steam. What Danny lacks in height, he more than makes up for in speed and sheer sneakiness.

Assuming their cases let them conform to a traditional working week, Saturdays see them perform the inescapable chores that plague each and every household. Even task force detectives with badges and helicopters need to buy groceries.

More often than not, their evenings are a carousel of family and friends. Beers by the ocean, Max and Grace bonding over bottles of Mango tea as everybody else sips at Longboards; Kamekona dragging them out to some restaurant or another, wanting the scoop on the competition and trying to con Kono into being a food safety inspector.

Sundays, however, are peaceful. Whilst Danny would never go so far as to classify any part of his life as _intimate_ \- at least not without a few beers in his system - he supposes that the word fits, nonetheless. Grace spends the latter part of the week and the first half of the weekend with them, and though it saddens Danny to kiss her goodbye every Saturday night, he has the comfort of equal custody to cheer him up. He also gets the sense that she finally feels more stable, passing between her parents with structure and ease.

More to the point, however, is that there is something to be gained from a little bit of privacy every now and then. In a funny turn of events that surprises him daily, he feels a satisfying sense of happiness whenever Steve, daft lug that he is, is tucked close by his side. Neither of them are even remotely co-dependent, but there is still a pleasant sort of comfort to be gained from orbiting the person you love. (Though he does his best to deny this whenever Kono makes little smoochy noises at them, on the odd occasion they’re publicly affectionate).

What it comes down to, is that Sundays are just for _them_. For tangled cat-naps broken by hazy orgasms; for malasadas in bed and the newspaper spread out over Steve’s tummy as they noodle their way through the crossword. For naked dashes to the kitchen in search of snacks and, yes, for whispered conversations beneath the sheets, little bits of gossip about HPD that Steve tries to pass off as _intel._ In short, Sundays are for the little things.

-

And so it is with great pleasure that Danny sighs happily into his pillow. They’ve got nowhere they need to be, the bathrooms were cleaned yesterday, and whilst they’re _always_ on call, their phones are pleasantly silent, dark and still on the dresser.

Soft lips are sliding down his body with deliberate intent, and Danny can feel the hot smudge of Steve’s swelling cock against the back of his thigh. It’s all he can do to bite back a grin – he knows where this is going, and he gives in to the urge to rut against the mattress a little. “Morning,” he finally whispers, cheek turned to the pillow and voice laden with satisfaction.

The sound draws Steve back up his body - seconds later a sternly sloped nose is nuzzling his ear, breathing him in happily. “Morning,” Steve returns, a husky utterance that is paired with the slip of his cock between Danny’s ass cheeks.

Danny can’t help but stretch, muscles knitting together then going lax, opening himself up to the feel of Steve working slowly against his ass and between his thighs. He lets his thoughts wander, picturing little dribbles of pre-cum sliding over the crease of his balls, and he hitches his hips up a little, seeking greater pressure.

It’s moments like these when Danny wants to kiss the _hell_ out of the Navy. Steve’s medical exam had fallen around his own police assessment, and they’d both been given a clean bill of health. Their last exams had fallen during the early stages of their relationship, and whilst Danny had known even then that they were both in it for keeps, there was always value in being practical and safe. This time, however, they’d decided to mix things up a little, get a bit messier on those days when they’re relaxed and in the mood.

They still maintain a trusty box of condoms in the drawer - it’s cleaner for the sheets, not to mention their bodies. But the thrill of offering himself up to Steve, of burying inside of Steve in return… well, every now and then, it’s more than worth the fuss.

They’re just starting to develop a good rhythm, Steve working him open gently and slurring words of arousal and adoration to the curve of his shoulder… when suddenly there’s a thumping noise from downstairs.

Danny can practically hear the hairs stand up on the back of Steve’s neck, so quickly does all six feet of him still. “Easy there, Sailor,” he whispers reassuringly, angling his head up to coax Steve into a kiss. The silence is broken only by the wet sound of their lips meeting, before the thumping returns ten-fold.

With a groan that rumbles all of the way up from his belly, Danny breaks the kiss to scrub a hand over his face. He may or may not whine a little when Steve shifts up and away, rolling off the bed and loping towards the dresser to inspect their phones. 

Steve is an impressive sight: lean, long, gently muscled and hair ruffled, his tanned skin infused with an endearing blush. His cock bobs a little as he walks back to the bed, and Danny’s eyes are undeniably drawn to it. 

“No missed calls. Is that…” Steve trails off, tilting his head to the side and twitching his ears like a fox. “Is that Chin?”

Sure enough, Danny can hear voices from the front step – not just Chin’s, but a whole gaggle of people calling out. They don’t sound distressed, merely demanding. And many in number.

“Er.” Perplexed and more than a little petulant, Danny crawls across the bed, hauling himself up to stand. He bends his knees, shuffling his weight from side to side; his body feels achey and loose, empty, still wanting Steve inside him and at a loss as to why it doesn’t seem to be happening. With a sigh, he slips gingerly into a pair of briefs, arranging himself to sit as inconspicuously as possible. 

“Ah, fuck it.” He stumbles into a pair of worn jeans. “They rock up here unannounced at the crack of dawn, they can deal with it.”

Steve, likewise, is stepping into a pair of tracksuit pants. He ties the drawstring with one hand, a deft maneuver of nimble fingers that speaks of a life spent studying maritime knots. His other hand is trying to smooth his hair down in a somewhat doomed attempt to look a little more presentable.

“Come here, come here,” Danny tuts, beckoning him over with imploring hands. “You’re hopeless.”

Steve, uncharacteristically acquiescent, bows his head so that Danny can run his fingers through the brown strands, tugging the ruffles into something neat. 

Danny knows that his own hair is a lost cause, so once Steve looks a little less debauched, they pad down the stairs together. 

“Ho, brah!” Kono this time, an amused and impatient chirp. “We know you’re in there! We’re trained in hostile entry, don’t think we won’t break in!”

Steve’s door, having seen more than its fair share of trouble over the years, is quickly and irritably yanked open. Steve, the fucker, is taking advantage of his height and shielding his groin from view, standing behind Danny and peering over his shoulder. It irks Danny that he can’t do the same.

“Yes, hey, hi, hello, can we help…” Danny’s voice disappears into a whisper, such is the enormous group of people stood on his doorstep. Max, Kamekona, Chin and Malia, Kono and Cath and Charlie, even Duke stood at the back wearing an expression of patient amusement. They’re all laden with grocery bags, as if they’re prepared to wage war on the kitchen.

“Er.” Danny’s not particularly body conscious, despite his appreciation of clothes and their place in society, but he’s not _truly_ prepared to be shirtless and half-hard in front of Duke Lukela. “Is everything alright?”

The gaggle doesn’t deign to respond, merely begins to squeeze and tumble their way inside. Danny would never admit it out loud, but he’d put money on Kamekona winning a wrestling match against Kono for first dibs through the door. Sure enough, Kame inches through and the rest all follow with jabbing elbows.

Cath, strolling in last, catches sight of Steve’s tented tracksuit pants.

Danny can’t help but love her a little when she laughs and swings her gaze to him, patting him on the cheek consolingly. “Yeah, good luck with that, Williams.”

Steve splutters indignantly, and despite the fact that a herd of people have just trampled into their house in the early hours of the morning, Danny feels happy. Happy that he and Cath can share slightly tipsy conversations about that _thing_ Steve does with his tongue; happy that Cath and Steve can still be friends, chattering to each other in Naval shorthand and leaving the rest of them mildly confused. He knows that people probably think they’re odd, or that they’re feigning civility, but the truth of it is that they all get along too well to go their separate ways.

It is the work of but a second for the whole troop to disperse throughout the house, bustling around the kitchen and unpacking things on the dining room table.

Danny, still stood beside the open front door, scratches his jaw absently, sparing a second to remind himself that he needs to shave at some point. “Do you have any idea what the hell this is about?”

Steve looks similarly quizzical, and he shakes his head. “No. It’s not your birthday and I forgot, is it?”

“No,” Danny tuts. “Although that indicates to me that you don’t remember when my birthday actually _is,_ which is particularly disturbing since I’m only a few hours older than you.”

Steve’s mouth turns down in a little pout. “Alright then, smartass, what are they doing here? And,” at this, he leans in conspiratorially. “What do you think our chances are of going back upstairs unnoticed?”

Before Danny can reply, Max’s head pops around the kitchen door. “Detective Williams! I wish to discuss white chocolate to milk chocolate ratios, if you could please be so kind as to tear yourself away from Commander McGarrett.”

At this, Danny sighs. “We’ve told you a thousand times, Max. Just Danny is fine.”

Max nods. “Alright then, _Just Danny._ Please, come.” Max looks proud of himself, as if he’s made a joke that they’ll understand out of the kindness of his heart.

Danny sighs again, though this time a little indulgently. “Look at that, Max, you made a funny.”

A few seconds pass, in which Max only stares at him with an inscrutable expression. As quickly as he appeared, he disappears, about-turning and walking back into the kitchen.

Danny doesn’t nestle his way into Steve’s side, because he would never do that. But it’s a near thing, and he’s secretly pleased when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders, tucking him close as they amble towards the kitchen. He’s still feeling a little jarred, keyed up, flung from the cozy naked privacy of the bedroom to the fully fledged cacophony of his family in the kitchen.

The gang seems to have set up an assembly line of sorts, some stationed at the main bench and others at the kitchen island. Chin is rooting around in the fridge, passing things to Charlie as Duke stands guard, ticking things off on a clipboard. Malia is sieving a frightening amount of flour into a large mixing bowl, pausing every now and then for Cath to add a little melted butter. Max is dividing up a variety of chocolates with scientific precision, slapping away Kono’s questing fingers with exasperated tuts. Last but not least, Kamekona is perched on a rickety chair, shaking his head at the large dessert recipe book in his hands. He looks as if he can’t comprehend why anybody would want anything other than garlic shrimp and malasadas.

Steve grimaces, pausing in the doorway as if they might need to make a hasty retreat. “That’s my great-aunt’s antique sewing chair,” he whispers into Danny’s hair.

Danny, still tucked under his arm, muffles a snort. “Seriously, Bilbo Baggins much? Besides, what’s it doing in the kitchen, then?”

Steve seems too distracted to respond, but his face takes on a particularly displeased expression. To the well-trained eye – which Danny is - it indicates that he’s confused, annoyed at being confused, and that he’s _all_ out of patience.

Fortunately, before things can descend into anarchy, Max looks up and notices them in the doorway; he quickly resumes their earlier conversation. “Ah, Daniel. Good. Does Grace prefer milk chocolate, dark chocolate, or white chocolate?”

Danny’s brow performs a complicated series of wiggles. “What? Sorry, what? …er… what?”

Max looks less than impressed. “Does Grace pref-”

“I understood your words, Max!” Taking a deep breath, Danny deliberately schools his tone into something gentle. “I’m just not sure why you’re using them.”

The room grinds to a halt, Malia and Cath both with bowls frozen mid-pour. Chin’s eyebrows hike up into his hairline, seemingly speaking for the entire group. “Grace has the school bake-sale tomorrow, yes?”

Danny stands still, wheels in his brain turning slowly but surely. “Yes?”

The room erupts into little chirps of amusement, Chin speaking over them all with a powerful voice and a raised hand. “And _you_ two - you two being one Daniel Williams and one Steven McGarrett, were going to bake the cake for her, correct?”

At Steve and Danny’s innocent nods, the room once against chuckles, a mixture of exasperation and affection. Charlie looks up from his inspection of the oven dials, having turned the heat on. “You do know that you can’t barbeque cake, right?” 

Danny’s, “et tu, Brute?” is accompanied by Steve’s, “I don’t barbeque _everything._ That was _one_ time, with the lasagne, and I have already conceded that it didn’t work.”

Silence reigns for a few minutes, everybody momentarily lost in the memory of that fateful cheesy night. Steve’s not great at dealing with embarrassment, and Danny can feel him growing irritable, their bodies still tucked close together. 

Normally, Danny considers rubbing Steve the wrong way, (no pun intended), a second full-time job. At the moment, however, Steve looks impatient and uncharacteristically grouchy, so he decides to try to wrap things up. “Okay. We-” at this, he points his finger at his chest, then Steve’s, “-are going upstairs to get dressed properly. You guys-” the same finger wiggles at the group, “-are not going to burn our house down, whilst we are gone.”

They back out of the kitchen to the group’s indignant cries, scooting up the stairs to the safety of their room. 

Steve is on him as soon as the door is shut, pressing him against the wall, sliding a knee between his thighs and almost hitching him up off the ground.

Danny is so surprised that he can’t help but kiss back, absently at first, but then passionately once he gets with the program. 

“Are you… _oh_ … are you… are you serious?” 

His words are punctuated by soft gasps, his lips slippery from a kiss so messy as to almost be disgusting. Almost. Steve’s tongue is wicked enough to be worth it. “I wouldn’t be half surprised if the Governor showed up in a minute, bearing sprinkles, and you still want to fuck with half a dozen people downstairs?”

Danny’s credibility is weakened when he rocks forward, trying to get himself off against Steve’s thigh. It’s not his greatest moment, but he’s caught up in the smell and feel and sheer size of Steve all around him. 

Where before there had been soft light, now there is enthusiastic morning sunshine streaming in through the window. It halos Steve, rendering him a shadow, but Danny can just make out his face. “You have the most fucking ridiculous bedroom eyes.”

Those same eyes crinkle, secretly pleased, then slowly lower to turn their attention to the buttons of Danny’s jeans. Steve’s lashes – “I didn’t even know an eyelash kink was a _thing_ until I met you” – sweep down, flutter a few times, and then sweep up again until their gazes catch. 

“I just want you, that’s all.”

As declarations go, it’s fairly inarticulate. Not especially romantic, though both of them are of the belief that romance is what you make it. But it’s said with such heat, such honestly, such simple love, that Danny can’t help but respond immediately, leaning forward to draw Steve’s lower lip between his teeth.

Before long, they’ve got their hands down each other’s pants. (It is one of the great tragedies of Danny’s life, that their bodies just don’t align when they’re standing up. He may like to indulge in the occasional sleepy daydream about Steve taking him from behind up against a wall, or even over the kitchen bench - but it just doesn’t work in the real world.)

Steve tends to get a little wobbly-legged when he’s close, (they’ve had a few awkward collapses in the shower during particularly spectacular blowjobs – even Navy SEALs can’t be smooth _all_ the time), so Danny spins them around, knocking the back of Steve’s head against the plaster a little. “Fuck, sorry, sorry babe.” 

Steve brushes him off with a wave of his hand, then sets to work on tugging Danny’s jeans and briefs off. His fingers are everywhere at once, nails digging gently into Danny’s ass; palms sliding down, cupping the warm and heavy weight of Danny’s balls; thumbs sliding along the oh so soft skin of Danny’s inner thighs; fist, finally, closing around Danny’s cock and giving a firm pump.

It’s not _particularly_ sexy, this rutting and stroking and rubbing against the wall, and their rhythm is broken more than a few times by the clink of dishes downstairs - but it’s effective. Steve tends to leak a lot more than Danny in the moments before, so he smears his thumb over the head of his own cock before returning his hand to Danny’s skin – it’s still not great, but it’s better. 

“How generous of you,” Danny snarks, but his mouth is stretched into a wide grin. A spark of heat begins to burn low down in his belly, a tight coil of gathering pressure and pleasure that’s waiting to snap. Before long, he can’t concentrate, head lolling forward, his brow resting against Steve’s collarbone. He tries to order his muscles to work when his fist falls away from Steve’s cock, but he can’t quite seem to coordinate his body.

Steve ducks down, presses wet lips to the pale shell of his ear. “S’alright, enjoy it.”

Danny does just that, locking his knees and breathing deeply. He stutters his hips forward into Steve’s fist, watching the slide of his cock against those beloved fingers, long, tanned and powerful. There is a moment of intense quiet, his skin feeling tight, then a rush of release as his cock jerks in Steve’s hand. He has just enough mental capacity to press his lips to Steve’s chest, sucking on the skin lest he let out a groan that would absolutely be heard downstairs.

He comes back to himself at the feel of a hand rubbing against him, nails scratching through the thatch of hair below his navel. “Hey, hey, what’re you doing?” 

Looking down, he sees that Steve has decided his belly makes a good hand-towel, smudges of his own cum stuck to his skin and scruff. “You’re such an ass,” he grumbles, even as he reaches forward to start rolling Steve’s balls, smoothing his grip up to rest the weight of Steve’s cock against his palm. “You seriously have to wipe yourself off on me?”

“Hey, it’s _yours_ anyway.” 

Steve’s grin is so bright and so playful, Danny actually takes the extra energy to rock up onto the balls of his feet for a kiss. (He likes to make Steve stoop a little, tall bastard that he is. Steve always huffs, says things like, _”really, really? You’re going to make me come all the way down there?”_ But he always does). 

Their kiss is broken by the sound of the bedroom door handle rattling. Steve outright bashes his head back against the wall. His, “seriously?” is so melodramatic that Danny can’t help but laugh, even as he launches forward to the door. “You really do not want to come in here.” 

He feels uncharacteristically light and amused – although that might be because _he’s_ already come, and Steve is still stood against the wall, cock jutting out and almost begging to get off.

The handle settles, then Max’s muffled voice flows into the room. “Ah, Daniel, good, there you are. Kono asked me to come up here. She would like to know what flavor of icing is preferable. I believe we have a variety on offer, though I must confess, I’m partial to the traditional vanilla, myself.”

Before Danny can reply, there are sudden shrieks of laughter from downstairs. Cath and Kono – Danny could pick their laughs out of a crowd.

“Max, buddy, I gotta’ tell you – this is a set up. I repeat, you have been set up.” He speaks clearly, as if talking into a police radio. “I would seriously advise going back downstairs, and possibly dumping a bag of flour on their heads.”

The laughter from downstairs gets even louder, and Danny could swear that he can hear Chin rumbling along merrily with the ladies.

“A set-up? I do not understand.”

Danny stares silently at the door, willing Max to understand with the power of his mind, picturing the very expression Max always has when he’s mulling things over.

Silence. More silence. 

Then, “oh. Oh. Oh! I do apologize! Had I realized that you were-. I would never have-. That is to say-. I would not have come up here… I shall… I shall leave now.”

Swift feet scoot away, along the landing and then down the stairs.

Danny knows the exact second that Max walks back into the kitchen, because there is a roar of laughter followed by Max’s indignant, “very mature, Officer Kalakaua!”

Sparing a second to chuckle, Danny begins to turn. He makes it about a foot before he’s pushed up against the door, handle digging into his belly as Steve squashes against his back, hot slippery cock rubbing desperately against the line of his spine.

“Oh, yeah, sure, don’t mind me.” Even as Danny speaks, he rests his cheek to the white paint of the door, settling in and giving himself up. “No please, go right ahead, I’ll just stand here whilst you try to climb me like a tree.”

Steve grunts into his ear, hips stuttering forward a few times before going perfectly still. 

Barely a breath later, Danny feels it, feels the warm little spurts against the small of his back, slowly dribbling down over his ass. Questing fingers soon follow, smudging through the mess before wandering south. Knowing what Steve is about to do, Danny tilts his hips back, sighing softly when Steve’s wet sticky fingers slip inside his body.

Steve does this a few times, lips latched on to the curve of Danny’s neck and sucking gently, worrying the skin until it pinks. Task finally complete, his whole body relaxes, sighing a sigh that’s so content, it’s almost unbearably endearing. 

“Suppose we’d better go back downstairs.” Having finally, _finally_ gotten off, his earlier grouchiness has all but disappeared. The delicious scents that are slowly wafting up from the kitchen don’t hurt, either. “That smells good.”

“Would you – just – move, you big lump.” Sticky, sweaty and insanely warm cuddling after sex is only pleasant for so long, and Danny wiggles his way out for a bit of fresh air. “And yes, that does smell good. I could eat. Could you eat?”

Steve nods, patting his hair down and casting around for his tracksuit pants once more. “I could eat. I could eat.”

They’re just about to get dressed again, when there is a veritable stampede of feet towards the front door. A variety of voices call out:

“Hate to love you and leave you!”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” – Kono, to the accompaniment of Cath’s laughter.

“The timer is set for thirty-five minutes! Please tear yourselves away from each other for long enough to rescue the cakes!” 

And with that, the front door slams shut, boots and slippers tromping down the front path.

“… was that Duke? Were we just sassed by Duke?”

Steve is too busy steam-rolling towards the door to answer. He’s as naked as the day he was born, obviously on the hunt for chocolatey goodness. He gets surprisingly single-minded when it comes to food, and Danny wouldn’t be at all surprised if he tried to fit an entire cake in his mouth in one go. “Seriously, you’re not even going to get-”

Steve is gone, and Danny hops anxiously from foot to foot, torn between protecting the food from Steve’s voracious appetite and the need to put some clothes on. He's still sticky and messy, but when a series of car doors slam shut outside, engines rumbling, he decides to make a quick dash down the stairs in pursuit of his partner. 

Just as he’s rounding towards the kitchen, Steve wanders into the living room, large mixing bowl in hand. “They left the dishes, but more importantly, they left us the bowl.” Wet hands, fresh from the kitchen sink, hold out the yellow bowl like a prize. “Wash up first, then you can have some.”

Danny fights hard not to give in to childish enthusiasm, making his way calmly to the sink and soaping his hands. He gives himself a two second clean with an _actual_ hand-towel, then dashes back out to the living room with as much composure as he can manage. He’s just reaching his fingers into the bowl, ready to scoop out a delicious swirl of chocolate batter, when the front door swings open.

Kono, not looking even remotely bashful, edges back into the house. Between a lifetime of surfing, a few years at the police academy, and an all-male team, she just ambles over to the kitchen without a care in the world. “Sorry guys, forgot my car keys.” She scoops them up from the bench - her smirk is a mile wide, the glint in her eyes powerful and bright enough to light the sun. 

Steve and Danny, stood frozen and clutching the mixing bowl between them… well, they just give up. It doesn’t take a quarter of their combined instincts to deduce that Kono’s messing with them. Steve nonchalantly returns his attention to the bowl, dipping his fingers in and sucking them clean.

Danny, on the other hand, turns to face her. Everything is on display, but he just points sternly towards the door. “Thank you very much for the cakes, I appreciate it, I do. But if you leave right now, I will officially let you drive the Camaro all week. Just please, for the love of god, leave my house. Also, if Steve keeps licking his fingers like that-” at this, he cuts his gaze towards Steve, who has his thumb in his mouth “- I can _guarantee_ you that you’re about to see something you don’t want to.”

Kono slinks back outside, radiating mischief as she closes the door.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Williams.”

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing my tradition of keeping Malia alive. I love her, not even remotely sorry. :D Also, Duke is too awesome to be ignored!


End file.
